


Safe

by MiniskirtAlert



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Lolita (1997), Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Lolita, Lolita complex, Modern Era, Nymphet, Secret Relationship, Smut, So Wrong It's Right, Underage - Freeform, illegal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniskirtAlert/pseuds/MiniskirtAlert
Summary: Petyr Baelish didn't want to marry Lysa Arryn- to him, she was annoying, fat, and clingy.Sansa Stark didn't want to move to her aunt's home- to her, she was cold, abrasive, and loud.But soon enough, Petyr and Sansa realise that they both hate the same person they live with, and an unexpected friendship begins to bloom. A friendship, that soon turns much darker in nature...





	1. Sansa

"Why the hell do you have to move in with that cranky bitch anyway?"

"Arya, language!"

This wasn't a phrase that was rare to Sansa Stark's lips, and the scowl that Arya Stark replied with wasn't rare, either. They were both in Sansa's bedroom, Arya sitting on the bed as she glared at her sister who stood by her vanity table, putting some necessary products in a small bag. Her favourite strawberry body mist, her peach lip balm, light brown mascara, and a concealer for extra difficult days. Other than those simple things, Sansa had never been allowed to play with makeup. Her mother, Catelyn, said it wasn't good for her image. It made her seem impure and easy, apparently.

"Oh don't act like you're okay with this, 'cause you're not! I can see it!" Arya jumped up to her knees on the bed, her wild, short brown hair swinging along. Some weeks prior, Arya's dark locks had gone past her waist, but then one day she came home from school with a devious grin and ruffled short hair. Words cannot express how angry their mother was. Their father, on the other hand, barely reacted.

"Please, Arya, stop shouting so much." Pleaded Sansa as she closed the bag and walked over to the bed, putting it into her suitcase that lay open. "It won't do us any good."

With a scoff, Arya fell on her back and spread out her short limbs. "Oh, and just going there with no objection at all will do us good?"

The young, dark-haired girl stared up at Sansa with dark, mischievous eyes. The older, auburn-haired girl gazed down at Arya with warm blue eyes. Only 2 years separated the sister's ages, and yet they were completely opposite. If anyone hadn't known their names, they could definitely pass as strangers. Arya was strong, dark, and roguish, while Sansa was tall, elegant, and abiding.

"Arya, go help your brothers," Catelyn Stark (nee Tully) strolled into the room, towel in hand and a thin frown on her face. When Arya didn't move immediately, her mother put the towel down in the suitcase and glared over at her. "Go do as I say. Now."

With a heavy, over-dramatic sigh the young girl slid off the bed and left the room, sticking her tongue out at her mother once she was sure she wouldn't be seen. Meanwhile, Sansa had made her way back over to her vanity table and was closing the drawers, her mind completely elsewhere. It was only when she felt a warm touch on her shoulder that she broke out of it, noticing her mother in the mirror. Although only 14, Sansa was almost as tall as her mother, and the two shared many things in terms of looks. Both of them had Tully auburn hair, the same polite smile, and a strikingly similar face structure. But, other than that, Sansa knew she wasn't very much like her mother at all. Most of the time, she thought of this as a bad thing. Who wouldn't want to be like Catelyn Stark? She was strong and fierce, yet regal and noble. She was smart and loyal; a loving mother and a dutiful wife. Wasn't that all there was to be in life? That was what Sansa was taught.

"Come, dear, let me fix your hair."

Once Sansa was sitting down, her mother began to brush through her hair. By now, it reached just over her bottom, and it was so thick and heavy that it continually gave Sansa a headache. But, unlike Arya, Sansa would never dare dream of having it cut- her mother would be so disappointed, and Sansa couldn't bear thinking of her mother disappointed in her.

Finally, after a long while of silence, Sansa let slip what had been so deep in her thoughts. "Is aunt Lysa..." Her voice began to falter, but she managed to squeak it out. "Nice?"

Her mother, as calm as ever, replied with her usual honesty. In the Stark family, they believed lies create nothing but trouble, so they are taught against them. But that didn't mean that they followed their own teachings all the time. "She's fair to family, but she's strict. You best follow her rules, and follow them well." Then, hitting a snag in Sansa's hair, Catelyn stopped for a moment and frowned. "Oh, and stay away from her husband."

Catching her breath and holding back the yelp of pain, Sansa bit her lip. "B-But I thought her husband died?"

"He did but now she's married again." Catelyn continued her work with Sansa's hair, "Quite recently, in fact."

"Why weren't we invited to the wedding?" Sansa's eyes searched her mother's face in the mirror, but she was denied the privilege to be looked back at. Her mother just continued working on her hair as if it was the most precious thing in the world and it needed all of her attention. After a while of not getting an answer, Sansa sighed and looked down at her hands as they lay in her lap. "It seems quite rude that we weren't invited. We are family, after all."

Putting the brush down, Cat sighed and put on her usual polite smile, looking up at Sansa in the mirror. "I'm sure they meant nothing with it. It must've been quite a hasty affair since I didn't even know that they were dating."

"Dating?"

Without a warning, a familiar warm voice interjected their conversation. "My hearing must be going." Ned Stark walked into the room with a look of disgust, "Did I hear dating? You're not thinking of it, are you?"

Watching him walk up to her in the mirror, Sansa laughed and shook her head. "No, father. I just think it's strange to think of aunt Lysa dating."

"Yes, believe it or not, my dear, but us old people do still date." Ned jested before kissing Cat's cheek, who swatted him away playfully.

"You're not old, father," Sansa replied with a roll of her striking blue eyes, only to watch her father's dark grey eyes mimic her action jokingly.

"Just wait until you're my age, dear, and then you'll think differently." After this, Ned kissed the top of Sansa's head and left. Her mother continued going through her hair, pulling it up into a smooth ponytail. With every lock that was brushed away from Sansa's freckled, pale face she couldn't help but wonder... She wondered if here beauty would fade with age like her fathers or if she'd age with grace like her mother. Vain as it may seem, but she couldn't deny that she hoped it'd be the latter.

Once Sansa's bag was filled with her usual sensible, clean-cut attire (which her mother bought, organized, and chose for her), both she and Cat stood by the bed, staring down at the bag with eerily similar looks.

"So, you're ready, then?" Cat asked, glancing at her daughter before starting to close the bag, not needing an answer even though Sansa decided to give one.

"I suppose so..." She muttered before sitting down at the edge of the bed, staring up at her mother with big eyes, "It's only for the summer, right?"

Cat, as strong and prudent as ever, smiled and nodded. "Only for the summer. You'll be back home before you know it."

Grabbing the suitcase, Cat began to make the journey out of Sansa's bedroom, down the hallway, down the staircase, and out into the front lawn. On the way, Sansa followed her, beginning with a simple question.

"Wait, so who is aunt Lysa's new husband?"

Her mother seemed hesitant but did answer. "Well... Sansa, his name is Baelish. Petyr Baelish. But you are only to call him sir, all right? And try your best to stay away from him."

"Why?"

"Because he has grown into an important man, with important work to do. Best not interrupt or distract him."

Just then, they had reached the porch. Sansa hopped out, her ponytail swinging wildly with her. The only thing that stuck with her from her mother's warnings was the last one. "Distract him?"

Before her mother could answer, Ned Stark had jogged his way up from the car, a warm smile on his ageing face. "All right, everything's ready. Sansa, why aren't you wearing your coat?"

Her mother had a painful sort of look in her eye, and Sansa tried to chalk it up to be the same look the rest of her family shared. Even Arya, who tried to hide it with insults and jibes, seemed to look somewhat saddened by the idea that Sansa would be gone for months up in the Vale. But eventually they all managed to say their goodbyes, but when Cat hugged her, Sansa wasn't all that surprised by what she told her. "Remember to always be on your best behaviour."

Not for long.


	2. Petyr

Petyr Baelish wasn't happy. Then again, he hadn't really been happy for years, but that's beside the point.

The point is that Petyr was more unhappy than usual, and that was all because of his wife. Lysa-fucking-Arryn. The morning had begun peacefully enough- Lysa was still knocked out from the sleeping tablet he had tricked her into taking, so he had been spared the dreadful duty of having to 'pleasure' his wife during the night. He then went through his usual morning routine, carefully avoiding Robin who kept whining to his nurse who was struggling, as always, on getting him to school. Prior to Petyr marrying Lysa, Robin had been homeschooled by his mother which ultimately reduced him to the mental capacity of a 4-year-old, even though he was double that age now. But Petyr had somehow miraculously managed to persuade Lysa that school would be good for her son. She only agreed after a hearty fuck and the promise that he'd be going to the best school closest by.

Petyr did it for his sanity. He worked home a lot but managed to keep himself locked up in his study. With Robin gone, so had the constant annoying interruptions. So curious to 'get-to-know' his new step-father was Sweetrobin, that Petyr had to lock the door. That, of course, caused Robin to cry out to his mother. Lysa had tried to scold Petyr like he was some kind of disobedient child (something she never dared do to her actual child), which only caused him slight amusement tinged with disdain. That day, he had fucked her into oblivion and managed to get rid of Robin for most of the day. If only he could get rid of her, too.

But now it was the beginning of summer. Most schools were already out, but Robin still had a week left (thank the Gods). But, even after Robin managed to be dragged away to school, Petyr's day still managed to get bad. First, he learned that during the night a fight had broken out at his nightclub, the Mockingbird, and his employe, Olyvar, just had to get in the middle of it all. Now he was one supervisor down and the press were all over it. In the middle of dealing with all of that, the school called saying that Robin was complaining of a headache. Fat chance. He told them to throw Robin an aspirin and get on with it, but just after that conversation ended Lysa knocked on his door, begging Petyr to join her out in the garden.

Fat chance.

She walked into his study, a room he tried is darndest to keep to himself, and leaned against his desk in a manner that she probably thought was sexy but was actually just quite revolting. But still, his steel mask never faltered and he leaned back in his seat, giving her his usual polite smile as she kept prattling on. "Are you sure your work cannot wait?"

"I am very sure, dear."

"But--" Before she could say anything else, Petyr had stood up and engulfed her words with a kiss. She deepened it, clearly wanting to go much further than he wanted to, so he broke it off. Lysa seemed dazed for a moment, blinking a few times as she bit her lip and sighed. "Oh alright... But you better not work too much tomorrow, alright? We'll be having a guest, after all."

Suddenly, Petyr's mind was blank. He blinked, slightly annoyed with the way Lysa was playing with the collar of his shirt, rubbing the other hand on his chest. She was always so hands-on with him; had always been that way since they were children. She eyed him slightly, clearly able to discern that he was suddenly very confused.

"My niece." She explained, "She'll be here in a few hours, my love." Oh how he hated her for calling him that. "I thought I already told you about this. Cat's daughter is coming for the summer."

Petyr would be a liar if he didn't say that he felt a pang in his heart. Well, he _is_ a liar, but that's beside the point. It had been years since he thought about Catelyn Tully, and decades since he'd seen her. Lysa never talked about her, and he was sure they hadn't actually met for a few years now, not that either of them really cared. Although close in youth, the Tully sisters never really managed to get along that well after... The incident.

"And why is that?" Raising a brow, Petyr didn't move back as Lysa's hand travelled up to his hair. She stroked her pudgy fingers through some of the hair at his temples. It was starting to grey and once or twice Lysa had suggested dying it, but he was against it.

"Something about a change of scenery," She shrugged before rolling her eyes. "In all honesty, I think they're just trying to prepare her for the real world. On how to live without her family."

"But why here?" It didn't seem like the smartest idea the Stark family would ever have, but then again they aren't exactly known for smart ideas. The Vale might be secluded and reserved, but so is Petyr, and he had a feeling that the Stark's were more against the latter of the two.

Lysa replied exactly as he thought she would- "We're family."

Family, Duty, Honor. The Tully motto. Growing up with them, Petyr had learned the three letter saying, too, although he didn't really follow it. At all. Ever.

The rest of the morning would have gone just fine if Robert Baratheon hadn't decided to stop by the club (at 1:06 PM, what a surprise...) and start some trouble. He claimed that he wasn't assuming that the waitress was a prostitute, but she threatened to cut his hand off just the same and was probably going to before the bouncers managed to escort Robert out. All the while, Petyr was stuck at home. He insisted to Lysa that there was a situation but she didn't believe any of it, saying that he had to stay home to greet her niece because that's what's 'right'. In his mind, the right thing would be to let him go to his club and defuse the problem in person to avoid a lawsuit. Robert really could be quite dramatic while drunk. The day really wasn't going well, and it was just past noon.

At 3:36 PM, Petyr heard the familiar thumping of his wife as she approached the study. He had a moment to brace himself, and oh-boy did he need it. As soon as the door flung open Lysa began fussing and hussling about, telling him that _she_ would be there any minute. Over the past few hours, she had been getting the spare bedroom ready, at his insistence that she do it herself. Initially, she had declined, saying that the bedroom is fine already, but then he pointed out the fact that it hadn't been aired out for Gods-know how long. Then he pointed out that it probably needed to be vacuumed. Then, that the bed needed a change of sheets. All of this gave him an hour or two of peace, but now it was being broken.

Trailing after Lysa, blocking out her continued chattering, Petyr began to wonder. What kind of daughter did Catelyn have? He knew she had children, of course, but he never really thought of them at all. Usually, he disliked children. They were loud, invasive, irritating little pests (ie: Robin). Would she be more Stark or Tully? Warm or selfish? How old is she? What's her name? Somehow, Petyr managed to fix it in his mind that she is a dark-haired, loud, short child with a pretentious name like Meralith- almost a mirror image of Lysa's son. This wasn't a big shock to him- Robin was the only child he'd been around in years. Probably decades. Maybe not since he was a child himself.

Standing outside had been a miserable affair. It was raining, and since the estate was so high up it had also been freakishly cold. Thankfully, the 'couple' were shielded from the rain as they stood underneath a balcony, but the wind was another matter. Lysa had insisted that Petyr keep her warm by putting his arms around her, which he normally hated to do but since Lysa isn't exactly what anyone would call thin, Petyr found strange comfort in the fact that when he held her she was also warming him up. This was one of the very rare occurrences where he liked that fact. They stood by the slightly open front doors, watching as the taxi drove up the hill and finally stopped by the door. Bracing himself, Petyr held in his breath and let go of Lysa as the door opened.

Suddenly, the fiendishly pompous Meralith disappeared from his mind and it was abruptly replaced by wild, auburn hair and a flushed freckled face. For a moment, he thought he was in a dream. In front of him, was a fiery nymph. Shy yet strong, she jumped out of the taxi, which promptly drove off again, holding her suitcase close as she rushed over to them. She was trying (and failing) to shield herself from the downpour, which caused her long red hair to darken and stick to her face, and yet her face managed to brighten up at the sight of Lysa (a shocker, even for him). She flat-out refused to look at him.

A shocker, indeed.

"Sansa!" Lysa's shrill voice brought him out of his sudden dazed state, and Petyr realized he had been staring. A lot. "Sansa, dear, come out of the rain." She gestured for her to follow, and the three made their way inside. Petyr, like the gentleman he was, allowed the two women to go first, which seemed to startle the poor girl a bit, and yet she still didn't look at him. Instead, she merely whispered a 'thank you' and hopped inside. Although the manor was usually too cold for Petyr's taste (which wasn't a surprise since it was so large and mostly uninhabited), the stone walls of the foyer greeted them all with a thankful heat. Sansa immediately clutched her bag tighter as Petyr closed the door, a fact he very well noticed. She was afraid.

"Thank you for letting me stay, Aunt Lysa." She began, her voice betraying her body. She sounded soft and warm.

"We're glad to have you here," Lysa replied, snaking an arm around Petyr's waist and pulling him close. Instantly, Sansa averted her eyes. "Sansa, this is my husband Petyr."

"A pleasure to meet you." He began, nodding his head slightly. For a moment, just a moment, her bright blue eyes flickered up and met his. It was a flash of blue, and then it was gone again.

"The pleasure is all mine, Sir."

His eyebrows quirked. Sir?

Adorable.


	3. Sansa

Sansa wasn't sure what she expected, but she knew it wasn't... this. She had already known that the Vale wasn't exactly the warmest, lowest place in the world (courtesy of her sibling's teasing, of course), but as she watched the dooming, looming figure of a dark, distant manor (it looked a lot like a castle to her, actually, which didn't help with her already jittery nerves) grow closer, she began to regret her choice of a 'change of scenery'. After all of the drama that had happened at school, Sansa knew she wasn't prepared to stay at home over the summer. She was determined to change her sights; to become more independent and strong, something she had been continuously teased for never being. But oh well, it was too late to change her mind now, because there they were...

It was pouring rain when Sansa hopped out of the cab her mother had already payed for, and she failed completely in sheltering herself with her suitcase from the continuous downpour. The air up there seemed thinner, but maybe that was just her nerves because oh Gods there they both were-- aunt Lysa was suddenly walking into the house after calling for her, and Sansa followed quickly, flat-out-refusing to look at the husband. Haven thought about her mother's warning quite a lot over the long journey, Sansa had eventually decided on avoiding him as much as possible. All the young red-head did was whisper a 'thank you' when he politely allowed her to go first, and flinch when he closed the door after they all came inside.

Speaking of the inside-- it was cold and damp and dark, despite the numerous lit candles and flittering electric lights. The foyer was also large and silent. Far too silent, but Sansa was far too nervous to keep the silence up so she quickly came up with something to say.

"Thank you for letting me stay, Aunt Lysa." She began in a manner she hoped was genteel and warm enough to make a good first impression. After all, she would be living with these people for a few months.

"We're glad to have you here," Her aunt replied as she snaked an arm around her husband's waist, pulling him closer then he apparently wanted to be. Without even realizing it, Sansa was staring down at the stone ground. She probably shouldn't have noticed that about him. Maybe he wasn't as keen of showing affection as much as Aunt Lysa wanted to?

"Sansa," At the sound of her name, instinct kicked in and the young girl looked back up, "This is my husband Petyr."

"A pleasure to meet you." 

Again, it was instinct that kicked in. Years and years of rigerous 'training' from her mother caused her to be that way, so it wasn't as though Sansa could avoid it. She couldn't avoid meeting his eyes. Although it was only for a flash-- for a flash was all she needed before realizing what she was doing-- she noted how the first thing they reminded her of was a cat. Gray-green and striking.

"The pleasure is all mine, sir."

After that, Sansa hardly noticed that the husband was there. He seemed to sink into the background as Aunt Lysa showed Sansa around. It was quite the manor, now that she really thought about it. Back home Sansa thought that their home was imposing and grand, but it was basically nothing compared to the Vale. To Sansa, Winterfell was warm- it felt like an actual home-, but the Vale was cold and isolated, and that's exactly how she was beginning to feel.

Back home at Winterfell the Stark family had the largest house on the biggest land; her father owned and leased the rest of the neighbourhood; her mother was the head of neighbourhood watch and almost every club there was; her brother's were the most sought after boys at their college, and Sansa dated the top boy at her school, Joffrey Boretheon, _just_ because she was the top girl.

Joffrey's father was Sansa's father's boss, and the Boratheon name was the most prestigious one of all. They were practically royalty, meaning that when Joffrey began showing interest in Sansa she was initionally very excited and, for lack of a better word, idiotic. Now, two years later, she regretted everything. This 'change of scenery' was actually mostly because of the immense amount of drama that had happened during the school year. If Sansa didn't get out of that area quick, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to sleep at night. 

Hopefully she'd get a lot of sleep at her aunt's and uncle's, though. They seemed quite nice already, but, to be fair, all they'd done so far was exchange a few kind words. Things were bound to change once Sansa had gotten settled in, which was exactly what she was doing in her new room. Alone, or so she thought.

"Ahem," Hearing someone clear their throat, Sansa's head jerked up as she had been unpacking her suitcase, and she immedietely met his gaze. He stood by the door with a light blue towel in hand, and a gleam in his eye. "I brought you a new towel."

"You didn't have to do that for me, sir."

"Yes, actually, I did." He walked into the room, and Sansa had to fight the urge to back away. He then explained further as he outstretched his arm, holding it out for her to take. "The guest towels are scratchy."

Sansa didn't have the heart to tell him that she had brought a towel of her own, and accepted it with great care. Care she spent in an effort to not touch him in any way or come to close. After that, instead of leaving, he explained that the door to the right was to the bathroom and the one to the left was for the closet, something she could've easily learned on her own.

A moment or two passed where neither of them said anything, with Sansa's eyes constantly focused on the towel he had given him. Finally, Lysa's voice broke the silence.

"Petyr."

Both of them looked at her, and Sansa saw how her eyes seemed different. They were colder than before, and she gestured for her husband to come. With a sigh and a smile, he bowed his head to Sansa before walking out. His arm was taken by Lysa, who pulled him away quickly.

Quickly, Sansa shut the door. She hadn't even realized it but she had been holding her breath. Something felt... off. Had she made a mistake by coming there? 

In an effort to shake away the strange feeling washing over her, Sansa decided to take a shower-- during which she heard a slight banging she couldn't explain and ended up ignoring-- before changing into a modest blouse and a sensible skirt, putting her thick, wet hair up into a bun. By that time the sun was slowly beginning to set, and she finally took a proper look at the room as she finally had the opportunity to. Since the house wasn't really a house but something rather akin to a mansion on top of a hill, her room wasn't as small as the one she had at home. 

Although the Stark family is quite well off, they lived in a normal house (one that was admittedly on the much larger side, that she could admit) within a normal neighbourhood. As children, they never had any days without playmates a-plenty and they were sent to private schools, rather than being home-schooled. At the moment, Sansa was starting to miss school. No, not the drama that came along with it, but the fact that it was something the excelled at. Her studies went well, and she was looked up to by a lot of people there (the exact opposite could be said about her sister).

Finding the silence too much to bear, Sansa opened the door to catch some words from the other inhabitants. Instead, all she heard was more silence. At home, she would've done anything for some silence. With a rambunctious younger sister and four brothers, there was hardly ever a moment of peace at home, and Sansa never thought she'd miss it. Yet... somehow she did.

Silently cursing herself for acting so ungrateful, Sansa pulled the door wide open-- a habit from home, since her mother liked keeping an eye on everyone-- and left it like that before sitting by the window, grabbing her sketch-book along the way. The window had a seating area that she quite liked, and as she propped herself up on it, crossing her legs as properly as she could, Sansa felt content.

As she began sketching her view of the garden, her eyes caught movement. Down there, walking towards the edge of the garden stood her aunt's husband. Sir Baelish-- as she was supposed to call him-- stood down there with his back to the house, and Sansa could see that he held something up to his mouth before blowing out smoke.  _Smoking_? She blinked, clutching her pen. Sansa had only ever known one other person that smoked, and that had been her older brother Robb. He had gone through a phase a year or two prior but was done now (or so he said).

Before she even knew what she was doing, she had incorporated Sir Baelish into the garden sketch-- well, he  _was_ in the garden after all--, but before it could be completed she glanced back and forth from the book and the garden before suddenly freezing.

He stood turned towards her, and he took the cigar out of his mouth before waving. Lamely, Sansa waved back as she knew not what else there was to do. He had seen her, and she was mortified. She wasn't supposed to distract him. And so, she slid off the window-seat and simply sat on the ground with her back to the bed. Sighing, the red-head could only think of one thing-- her mother would be so disappointed in her.

As she began a new sketch, Sansa couldn't stop focusing on the general calm of the manor. It's a large stone manor that's far from any city, but one of the closest ones was one that Sansa wanted desperately to see and experience-- King's Landing. Haven lived a sheltered life, she had never been given a real opportunity to visit the capital.

As her thoughts drifted towards the capital, she was pulled back towards the present as she heard the main front doors open and an unfamiliar voice echoed through the halls.

" _Mom_!" It shrieked just before the door closed.

"My darling boy, welcome home! I've missed you!" Lysa's voice replied and her hurried, small steps crossed the main hall to greet him. Hearing all of this, it was obvious to Sansa that her cousin Robin was home.

Wondering for a moment whether or not she should stand up and greet him, Sansa decided against it. Instead, she put her focus back down onto her sketching, but found herself lacking inspiration. She had absolutely no idea where her mind was at the moment, and it was beginning to frustrate her. Sansa felt unnaturally on edge.

Barely a minute later, there was a knock on the door. Peeking up to see who it was, she was met with the lanky figure of Sir Baelish as he leaned against the door, and entertained smirk pulling at his lips. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something, miss, but it's time for dinner."

"Oh."

Standing up, Sansa hastily fixed her skirt before slipping into her slippers. Meanwhile, he waited patiently. In all honesty, she had expected him to leave as soon as he had delivered the news, but that didn't seem to be the case.

Allowing her to go first, he guided her down to the dining room, making Sansa actually quite relieved that he had gone with her. Otherwise she would have surely gotten lost. She sat herself down in the middle of the table, where one end held Petyr and the other held Lysa. Her son, Robin, sat right by her, and Sansa noticed how she cut his food for him. Petyr didn't even seem to notice it, and Sansa tried her best to ignore it. Then, the questions began.

"You're my cousin?" Robin asked, and Sansa nodded politely in reply.

"Yes, our mothers are sisters."

With scrutinizing eyes he looked at her for a moment before speaking again, "I thought my cousin would be prettier."

Silence fell and Sansa found nothing to say except-- "Oh."

"I mean, if our mothers are sisters then you should look better, right? You must've gotten it from your dad. Your nose, especially. It's crooked and weird."

Lysa laughed along with her son, but Sansa said nothing. Instead, she focused on her soup. Petyr stayed silent, too.

The comments kept on coming, with Sansa not really knowing what to do other than wait until they were over. At home she was used to hearing her mother berate her sister's appearance and actions-- and most of the time Sansa even took part in them-- but this was different. Sansa hadn't done anything to be scolded for, but she couldn't say that. If she was kicked out on her first day there for talking back to adults-- to  _family_ \--, her mother would be so ashamed.

When Robin finally seemed to run out of things to say about Sansa, he began to complain about the food. She suspected that this was nothing new as she glanced at Petyr, who simply sat there with the same monotony content expression. At that moment she wondered how he could bear it, but her thoughts were soon taken elsewhere as she heard a plop just in front of her, and she looked down to see a bouncy-ball floating in her soup.

With splatters on her blouse, Sansa bit her lip to keep herself from frowning. It seemed as though Lysa was  _trying_ to scold her child, but it took nothing more than him saying that it was an accident for her to forgive him and move on. And with that, Sansa put down her spoon and ignored the grumbling in her stomach as she politely excused herself from the table. She didn't get any answer from Lysa, as she was too busy helping her son eat, but was thankfully granted one by Petyr.

Back up in her room, Sansa closed the door-- hating the fact that she could not lock it-- before shedding some tears. She didn't want to allow them to fall but simply couldn't help it. She felt lost and alone, with no idea who these people were, despite the fact that they were family. The whole reason for her leaving home was because of family troubles (along with school troubles, of course). Troubles she knew wouldn't end soon enough...

Crawling into bed, Sansa wore her nightgown and had her hair braided. She knew it'd give her some lovely curls for the next day, which she felt excited towards. The sad fact was, though, that she didn't know what else to be excited for other than that simple thing. Curly hair.

As her head laid on the pillow, Sansa's ears focused on the silence. It felt deafening. So much so, that when she heard a sharp knock on the door, her heart jumped and she gasped, clutching her covers tightly. Staying completely still, Sansa was suddenly wide awake, when only moments before she had been drifting to sleep.

It turned silent again, and she wondered if it had been a ghost.

"Uh..." A voice began, and she came to her senses. "Miss Sansa...? It's me."

_What the hell was Petyr Baelish doing knocking on her door at night?_


End file.
